


so, you want to die young.

by autoheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Post-War, fake death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 02:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15786750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoheart/pseuds/autoheart
Summary: "Every night, you're terrified of what you won't become, so you want to die young."In the wake of the war, everything is ruined. Harry had thought the casualties would end with the fighting. Draco had thought being “dead” was the solution all his problems. Neither of them had anticipated peace to feel so…. Empty.dedicated to my friend erica but only if she finds this with her detective skills.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you dreamed? And what if in your dream you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand? Ah! What then?" - Samuel Taylor Coleridge
> 
> “ Jesus
> 
> he was a handsome man  
> and what i want to know is  
> how do you like your blue-eyed boy  
> Mister Death”  
> \- ee cummings, Buffalo Bills

Four years before

i.

 “I know it’s asking a lot but-“

 “I’m going to Azkaban either way and this is the only way I’ll ever be able to help him. I understand that. I’ll do it.”

 The flatness in his father’s voice made Draco’s stomach clench.

 “Draco. This is a lot to ask of you, too. It won’t be easy. It will be _lonely._ Are you sure you want to do this?” Professor McGonagall asked.

 Draco was quiet for a moment. He had been sure from the moment McGonagall had appeared on his doorstep a few hours ago with the suggestion. He took a deep breath.

 “Yes. I can’t stand the way they look at me. Loneliness would be easier than facing that,” Draco said quietly.

 “Then we are decided.”

 

ii.

 Harry dropped the Prophet as though it had burned him.

 “No,” he whispered, his eyes locked on the paper where it lay in the table, skimming over the headline once more.

  ** _Former Death-Eater, Draco Malfoy, Murdered by Father. Lucius Malfoy to Face Extended Sentence._**

 “No. No, no, no, no, no,” Harry repeated.

 They had _survived._ The war was over. They had survived, there weren’t supposed to be any more casualties.

 The war had ended two weeks ago. He had moved from the Burrow back to Grimmauld Place a week ago. He was glad now, that he was alone, sitting at the long dining table, his knuckles white as he gripped the edges so hard that the ancient wood threatened to splinter. His stomach turned, bile crawling up his throat.

 He skimmed the article.

  _Avada Kedavra. Cast by Lucius Malfoy’s wand. 10:47 last night. Burned the body at scene of the crime. Narcissa Malfoy eye witness. Would have been 18 on June 8th._

 There were side by side pictures of Malfoy and his father. Harry suddenly felt a murderous rage when he laid his eyes on Lucius, one he thought he would never feel again, the same feeling he had when he looked at Voldemort. He tore through the picture with his nails.

 “You bastard. You fucking _monster_ ,” Harry spat. “Why couldn’t you have left him alone? You took and took and took from him and now…” Harry surprised himself with a sob. “And now there is nothing left to take.”

 There had been a time when news of Malfoy’s death wouldn’t have phased him. Those days had passed. Malfoy had saved him. He had saved Malfoy. Harry had come to feel something akin to comradery with the other boy. They were both trapped, forced into situations the previous generation had forged for them. Tools of war, the both of them.

 Tears dripped off his nose onto the newspaper in front of him, where Malfoy’s image blinked up, unsmiling.

 It had only been eight days since Harry had last seen Malfoy.

 They had met up at a muggle coffee shop so Harry could return his wand. Somehow, the press had still been able to track them down. There had been a picture of them walking side by side down the street on the front page under the headline: **_The Boy Who Lived and Former Death-Eater Spotted In Muggle London. Unity on the Horizon?_ **

 Harry stood up quickly, hurrying towards the far end of the table where a week’s worth of _Prophets_ were stacked messily. He shuffled through them until he found the one he was looking for.

 He and Malfoy walking down the pavement, both looking tense. Harry was slightly in front of Malfoy, leading the way as the other boy trailed behind him. They were both clearly unaware of the camera tracking them. Malfoy mostly kept his eyes on the ground as he followed Harry, but occasionally they would travel up to the back of Harry’s head and he would get this funny, almost pained look on his face. Old rivalries die hard, he guessed.

 Harry looked away from the picture, swallowing the lump in his throat.  He tried to remember the last thing he said to Malfoy. They had stayed at the coffee shop only long enough to exchange the wand discreetly, Harry thanking him for letting him use it, Malfoy replying that it wasn’t as though he had a choice, though the usual acid had gone from his voice.

 

“Bye, Potter. And thanks,” Malfoy had said, his eyes finding Harry’s for the first time since they had met that evening.

“For what?” Harry had asked, his stomach twisting in unfamiliar knots.

“For not condemning me the moment you had the chance. The Ministry would have listened to you, if you had wanted to. I’m not so sure the rest of the world will be so forgiving” Malfoy clarified.

“I wouldn’t let them condemn you. I _won’t_ let them. You had about as much choice in this as I did, Malfoy,” Harry said.

“Saint Potter, always to the rescue,” Malfoy replied, but a smile ghosted his lips, not the sneer that Harry was so used to accompanying that phrase, Saint Potter. Harry remembered thinking it was the first time he had seen the other boy smile in a while. Maybe even in years. He wished he had known it would be the last.

“Come off it,” Harry smiled back.

“I’ll be seeing you, Potter, I’m sure,” Malfoy said, standing up from the table. He rest a hand on Harry’s shoulder for just a moment. Harry reached up and covered Malfoy’s hand with his own, a gesture that felt oddly intimate, but that he had been unable to stop. Malfoy’s eyes had widened, but he didn’t pull away.

“Yeah. I’ll see you,” Harry said, remaining at the table. Harry released his hand.

 Malfoy had nodded and walked away. That was the last time Harry had ever seen him.

 

Harry clasped his hand over his mouth, trying to place the pain in his chest. Malfoy had never been his friend. They would likely have never had been friends. So why did the fact that there was no chance of reconciliation making him feel sick?

  
  
  


iii.

**Three years before**

 “How have you been getting on?” McGonagall asked, having brought Draco to her office for their daily meeting.

“Fine, I suppose,” Draco said. It was much easier to speak, now that he didn’t have that damned mandrake leaf in his mouth, not that he spoke much anyway.  It had been his third try, as the last two times, the full moon had come on a cloudy night.

“Where are you now, in the process?”

“Waiting for an electrical storm,” Draco said, his eye glancing towards the window as he spoke, hoping perhaps he could speak one into existence.

“And your wand, it’s working well?” McGonagall asked, her gaze falling to the wand on her desk.

He nodded. She had had it reregistered under a false name as that of a tourist, so Draco could carry on performing magic without drawing suspicion. He wouldn’t have pinned Minerva McGonagall to be a woman with connections like she had, but he supposed connections came with being headmaster of Hogwarts.

“Good. Now, let’s just hope whatever form you take isn’t too outlandish. I know it’s not under your control, but I really hope you’re something I can explain away, although with Hagrid on grounds, there’s very little I can’t come up with an excuse for. That, and you won’t be Hogwarts’ first unregistered Animagus,” she added, though she seemed a little nervous.

 

He suppressed the urge to say he would be happy as anything other than himself.

Draco smiled at her, shifting in his chair, noting he was getting remarkably good at holding his tongue. Death really changed a person, he supposed.


	2. Chapter 2

Present Day

 

The house elves clambered around the kitchen in a sort of organized chaos that Draco had grown accustomed to. He was sat at a dining table with the head elf, Tibsy, discussing the day ahead of them. 

“Tibsy, remember we need a birthday cake at the Hufflepuff table tonight.” 

“I remember, Mister Malfoy,” the elf reassured him. 

“Chocolate? Or was it carrot cake?” Draco asked, skimming his notes.

“Chocolate, Mister Malfoy.”

“Right. Thank you, Tibsy.”

 

Draco smiled and looked back down to the list of foods he had organized for today’s meals. He found himself asking questions just to have an excuse to speak. He had been less than enthusiastic when McGonagall had suggested he be in charge of organizing  _ menus  _ for the Great Hall. He had never really thought about it beforehand, but someone had to decide what they would be eating everyday. And it was something to do. He had done nothing but sit around in his quarters, since he had finally finished the long, tedious process of becoming an Animagus. 

He had agreed, simply because it meant he would be able to talk to someone,  _ anyone,  _ in his day to day life. He would see the headmaster for drinks occasionally, but he could tell the meetings were always more of a welfare check than anything else. She was a nice enough woman, but she wasn’t his friend. 

 

Spending all his time around house elves made him feel as though maybe he was going a bit funny, as well, but there was no one to check for him. He was terribly concerned that the would develop one of their strange speech patterns and be none the wiser because they were the only living things he spoke to. 

  
  


He sighed, checking off the items he had gone over with Tibsy. He was done for the day. The job didn’t take long. He would come to the kitchen around five each morning, eat and make sure that the house elves had gone over the list he had left for them the day before. They always sent a bit of what they had made to his room around meal times as well, which he appreciated. It wasn’t as though he could be walking back and forth across the castle all willy nilly throughout the day. 

 

“I’ll be going then,” he said, pushing his chair back from the table. 

“Will you be wanting to take a tea or a coffee, Mister Malfoy?” Tibsy asked, standing up in a hurry. 

“Not today, thank you. Here’s tomorrow’s list, as well,” he added, pulling a piece of parchment from his bag. 

The elf nodded and took the paper, tucking it into her pillowcase. 

 

He walked over to the wall that lead to the hallway, glancing at the clock. It was only seven in the morning, and the number of people wandering around the halls would be few, the number wandering near the dungeons even fewer. Draco cast a disillusionment charm on himself and stepped out into the hallway. He hurried down the familiar path to his rooms, passing only five or six students in the process. They reacted to him about as much as they would have reacted to a breeze. 

  
  


Eventually, he reached the old Slytherin dungeons. The dorms had been moved above ground in an attempt to keep the Slytherins less secluded from the rest of the student body, although living in the dungeons had never seemed to condemn the Hufflepuffs in anyway. Still, he understood the sentiment, after the war. Now the old Slytherin dungeons were in a state of apparent disuse. Draco and McGonagall were the only ones to know the password. 

 

Draco stopped in front of the stone wall and murmured, “ _ Sepultura. _ ” 

 

The bricks began to shift, opening a hole in the wall, which he walked through, listening to the bricks click shut behind him. The common room had changed quite a bit with Draco as it’s only inhabitant. There were fewer armchairs and many of the fixtures had followed the Slytherin dorms to their new home. Now the room was lined with books Draco had collected over the years. There was an area he had devoted to his potions equipment and on the opposite and of the room, a small dining table. 

 

He made his way to the room that had always served as his bedroom, but now only housed one bed. He had taken the liberty of making his bed large, comically so, to compensate for the abundance of space he now had. He collapsed onto the bed with a huff, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. He had developed a semi-nocturnal sleep schedule, as nighttime was the only time he was really free to leave the castle without risk of being spotted, and once he was outside, he was fine. No one looked twice at a white wolf pacing along the edges of the Forbidden Forest, except perhaps Hagrid. Anyway, students didn’t much bother with roaming the corridors late at night anymore. The children entering the school now had grown up with stories of Hogwarts as a war zone, which he supposed just didn’t breed troublemakers like Harry Potter. 

 

Draco pushed the name out of his mind. He found it there more and more frequently as of late, if that was possible. Draco’s stomach tightened as he tried to forget the article he had read in the  _ Prophet  _ the day before. 

 

 ** _Potter Confirmed Bachelor?_** The headline rung through his mind again. He had broken up with the Weaselette shortly after Draco had “died.” Draco tried to tell himself that was a coincidence but a voice in somewhere in the deepest hollows of his heart whispered maybe it wasn’t. That voice accompanied with claims made in the gossip rags he had unfortunately found himself reading for a lack of entertainment cemented his irrational hopes even further into his brain. He kept a scrapbook of articles and clippings that mentioned people he had gone to school with, as familiar names were the closest things he had to friends, but because Potter was the most frequently mentioned in the papers, it was quickly becoming _Harry Potter: A History._ He looked at it so often now that he was certain he could recite most articles by heart. Particularly the ones about Potter, but he chose not to notice that correlation. 

He lay on the bed, a particular article he had read nearly six months after he “died,” the one that planted the idea in his mind originally, which he wholeheartedly wished he had never read, running through his head. 

 

**_Potter Carrying a Torch for Former Nemesis?_ **

_ Sources close to the young wizard say a certain recent loss has much to do with the break up of Hogwarts sweethearts Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley.  _

_ “I thought maybe the whole fixation he had on Malfoy in school would fade away as we got older,” the very, very close source says, “and certainly after he passed. Can’t do anything sneaky when he’s- well, when he’s not here.”  _

_ The source suspects there was something more to Potter and Malfoy’s rivalry in school, though perhaps only on Potter’s behalf.  _

_ “It would be different if he couldn’t get over the war. That I understand. I’m not over it myself, and don’t know that I ever will be completely.  But the war hardly seems to be what really got to him. It was Malfoy. He just can’t move past it. It’s a bit embarrassing, being jealous of corpse,” the redheaded source concluded.  _

  
  


The article had been accompanied by a photograph of the two of them, the day they had exchanged wands at the muggle coffee shop. In it, Harry was holding Draco’s hand where it rest on his shoulder, the other boy looking up at Draco with an easy smile on his face. Draco couldn’t deny it looked particularly incriminating.

Draco remembered losing feeling in his hands the first time he had read it. It was heavily implied that the source was Ginny herself, but surely, magazines that report on subjects such as that were not to be trusted. He had leaked false information about Potter back in school himself, and he knew how easy it was to get something published if you wanted to ruin someone, especially someone who held as much public interest as Potter. What scared him most, however, was that he wanted it to be true. He knew Potter had been to his funeral, had been one of the last to leave, in fact, outstayed only by his mother and Minerva McGonagall. He also knew that Harry Potter, the boy who lost nearly everything but never shed a tear, was weeping rather openly at the event. It had crossed his mind, of course, that perhaps it was a culmination of events that lead to this display of emotion. He would have continued to think so if it weren’t for this article, accompanied with the fact that nearly three years after the articles publication, Potter hadn’t dated anyone publically. Draco found it hard to believe that a man approaching twenty-two would not be caught once in awhile in some sort of fling. But Potter never was, which either meant he was Polyjuicing heavily, or he just didn’t go out. 

 

Draco was broken out of this oft visited train of thought by a sudden blow to his stomach. 

“Omph, I was sleeping,” he groaned, opening his eyes to see the green eyes of his calico staring back at him. The look she gave him in return seemed to say she knew full well he hadn’t been. “I was,” he insisted, defensive to her silent judgement. 

She mewed at him and he sighed.    
“Alright, alright,” he said, scratching between her ears. She had been a gift from McGonagall, and he loved her dearly. He had been slightly wary of her being an animagus, as the markings around her eyes looked very much like glasses, but McGonagall insisted she was just a cat, she had made sure of it. He was only completely convinced when he became an Animagus himself, as her energy did not feel like McGonagall’s. When McGonagall had told him her name was Harriet, Draco was sure it was some cruel joke, but there was no hint of laughter in McGonagall’s eyes. She had given him a bespectacled cat named Harriet and seemingly thought nothing of it. Though he supposed most normal people would think nothing of it.  All the same, he had taken to calling her Potter, as she was just as hard headed and rebellious. 

“I’ll let you out, but please, don’t bring any mice back,” he pleaded with her, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. 

 

She hopped down in pursuit of him, following him to the hole in the wall that began to click open at his touch. She meowed again. 

“I mean it, Potter, no mice or you’re grounded,” Draco replied, knowing that even if he didn’t let her out, she would find another way, bullying the house elves into letting her through when they came to gather his dishes. 

She mewled again in response, sounding none too threatened, and dashed out into the hall. Draco closed the entrance again and dragged himself back to bed. 

 

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of Potter, stumbling out of the Forbidden Forest, bloodied and in the same clothes he had been wearing in the last battle, while Draco was on one of his nightly walks of the grounds, only this time as a human. He collapsed several feet ahead of Draco, who broke into a sprint, falling to his knees at Potter’s side, his hands frantic as he searched for a source of the blood, but found none. 

“I knew it,” Potter had muttered, lifting his hand to cup Draco’s cheek and stopping him in his tracks. 

“Knew what?” Draco had asked, feeling cold all over. 

“Knew you wouldn’t leave me all alone like that,” Harry murmured. “Not when everything was finally going to be alright. For you. For me.”

“Hardly,” Draco scoffed. 

“It would have,” Harry said. “We could have been happy. Still can be.” 

 

The sob that escaped Draco’s throat startled him awake. He wiped the tears from his cheek with his sleeve, cursing his subconscious for being so cruel. Of course,  Harry could still be happy, if he wasn’t already. But Draco? He laughed darkly. Of course not. 

  
  
  


“It’s nice to see you, Harry,” McGonagall smiled at him from across their shared table at the Leaky Cauldron. 

“You, too, Professor,” Harry agreed, feeling slightly guilty. He had avoided her these past few years, but then she was not alone. He had avoided most everyone since finishing school. Part of him still wished he hadn’t agreed to see her for dinner, but something told him that disagreeing would be burning a bridge worth saving. 

“I wanted to speak with you about something, which I suppose you could have guessed from my writing you,” McGonagall continued, making no small talk as per usual. 

“Of course,” Harry agreed. Though he had been expecting this, he had been hoping against hope she wouldn’t have  _ something  _ to speak to him about. The phrase always sounded ominous, especially from her, seeing how many times she had reprimanded him as a child. 

“Well, I am sure you know the Defense position at Hogwarts has not been filled since you finished your schooling,” McGonagall began.

Harry didn’t know. He hadn’t kept up with much, and he didn’t see what that had to do with him, but he nodded anyway. 

“I was wondering, if, perhaps, you would be interested in filling the position. You would, of course, need to do a bit of studying over the course of the summer, but I would say, and most of the staff agrees, that you have enough field training to make up for a lack of classical study for the most part,” she finished, looking at him expectantly. 

“Me? Teach?” Harry asked, his eyes widening. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“Your  age concerned some, but it was the general consensus that you are respected enough by the students to be able to hold a position above them. And if I recall correctly,” McGonagall added, with a hint of a smile, “you do have a bit of experiencing teaching Defense already.” 

Harry nodded, sheepishly

“I think you will find teaching will be a good distraction. Much better than… well, forgive me, but much better than the sitting around and moping that you are doing now,” McGonagall said with a knowing look. “You need to try your best to move on, Potter. Not just for you, but for everyone you lost.” 

There seemed to be an emphasis on the word everyone, but Harry decided it was imagined. Still, the word held weight. 

He wasn’t honoring the life they had allowed him by losing theirs. He was wallowing. He knew he was wallowing. And the worst part of it all was that some part of his mind felt that he could justify it. He knew Sirius wouldn’t want him to wallow. His parents wouldn’t want him to, nor would Fred, nor would Tonks or Lupin. And shouldn’t that be enough? But then again, what would Draco Malfoy want? Would he like to see Harry sulking because of him? Perhaps he would smirk and say “Ah, Potter, I never knew you cared,” in that infuriating but so well practiced patronizing tone of his. And then, when Harry thought of moving on, he could only imagine the wounded look on Malfoy’s face, the one that he wanted you to think was pretend but was really more close to the truth than he cared to admit. And in a flat voice, which was always worse coming from Malfoy (his acidity was comforting), he would say “So soon, Potter? Careful, or people will think you’re happy about it.” 

Harry was trying. He was trying to convince himself that Malfoy wouldn’t care at all. And it wasn’t so soon. It had nearly been four years. Everyone, even Malfoy’s own mother, seemed to being faring better than Harry. 

 

“If you could tell me,” McGonagall interrupted his thought, “before the end of this term, I would appreciate it. Just so I can find a replacement should you refuse, or so you could start your studies should you accept. I believe there are still some lesson plans left in the classroom from previous teachers should you need reference, although I would beg you to refrain from using too many of Lockhart's. I know Lupin left a few, as well, which I think I would encourage.” 

 

Harry nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed. 

 

“I was also urged by Hagrid to remind you that he would be happy to see you again. Even offered to bake you a birthday cake this year should you be on the grounds,” McGonagall added, and with this there was a gleam of mischief in her eye. 

 

***

 

It was half past one in the morning. Harry had fallen into a terrible sleep pattern, spending most of his time alone, which he found was easier to do when no one else was awake to bother him. Tonight, he felt like he would rather like to sleep, but it had become an impossibility.  Hogwarts had always been more of a home to him than any other place he had lived, even now, having lived at Grimmauld Place for several years. But the age old phrase “you can never go home again” rang through his head at the prospect of returning. And in truth, he couldn’t. He would return this time as a teacher, not a student. Most of the  people that made it home were gone, as well. Dumbledore would not be there, outside of his portrait. Neither would any of the Weasleys, or Hermione, or- his train of thought sputtered to a stop. Or Draco. He was mildly alarmed that Malfoy was included in the list of people that made the castle a home, as for most of his life he had regarded him with the same distaste as he had Dudley, but even more so, he was startled by the word itself.  He had thought “or Draco.” Full stop. Period. He knew formality didn’t matter in his own mind, but he had never been Draco to Harry. Harry had never once even thought to refer to him by his first name. He wasn’t entirely sure he had ever even said it aloud on its own.

 

“Draco,” he whispered, barely a noise, yet all too loud in his quiet house. The word felt odd in his mouth. His chest tightened inexplicably and he fought the urge to cry. He shook his head, trying to clear the feeling. 

He came to a decision. He could not be sat at home, alone, whispering a dead boy’s name in his kitchen. Surely,  a few months more of this and he would be completely mad. 

 

He jotted down a note and whistled for  Boötes ,  who he heard ruffle his feathers in the other room and then came flying through the doorway. 

He tied the note to Boötes’s leg, then stopped to scratch the top of his owl’s head. 

“Take this to, McGonagall, would you? Maybe take a look in the owlery while you’re there. You’ll be spending quite a lot of time there I imagine,” he murmured, slipping Boötes a treat. 

 

Maybe it was true. Maybe he could never go home, but hell, if he wasn’t going to try. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Did I tell you Mr. Potter will be returning to Hogwarts?” McGonagall asked casually, sipping her tea at her desk.

Draco choked on the mouthful of tea he had been swallowing. 

“Excuse me?” he said, trying not to sound too shocked. 

“I asked him to fill the Defense position,” McGonagall continued, seemingly oblivious to Draco’s shock. 

“Right,” Draco nodded. The feeling began to leach from his hands, which seemed to be his body’s go to reaction to anything Potter. He set down his mug. 

“I only warn you because, as you know, Potter has an affinity for snooping and sneaking about, and I am not sure he’s grown out of it. You must be careful at night. Disillusion yourself until you are out on the grounds, and maybe even while you’re walking about, unless you’ve changed,” she continued. 

Draco nodded. 

“You’ll likely have to stop your work in the kitchens. He likes to take his meals there occasionally, if memory serves me right,” she added. 

“Just tell him not to come between five and seven in the morning,” Draco asked, hoping it didn’t sound too desperate. He liked the kitchen, and he liked the elves. They were, afterall, the closest thing he had to friends. 

“I can hardly make a rule that specific, Mr. Malfoy, especially since Mr. Potter seems to think rules are made to be broken,” McGonagall replied. 

Draco snorted. 

“He’s not been well, Malfoy,” she added. 

“How do you mean?” 

 

Not sick. Surely, he would have read it somewhere if he was sick. Even if they wanted to keep it underwraps, one of the less reliable gossip magazines would have gotten a hold of it and published it, and they would have been allowed to since so few actual think of them as a source of actual news. But there had been nothing. 

 

“Not physically ill, so you can take that look off your face. You look as though you have seen a ghost,” McGonagall said. “He’s just not been himself. Not since y- well, since it all.” 

“When are we expecting him?” Draco asked, swallowing around his heart, which had taken residence in his throat. 

“He’ll arrive on the Hogwarts Express when it comes to take the students home,” she said.

“So this week?” Draco asked. His airways felt as though they had constricted to the size of a penny whistle. 

“Yes, this week.” 

Draco smiled and nodded. “Wonderful,” he choked. “The prodigal son returns.” 

“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall warned, though she looked a bit surprised to see a smile on his face when she looked up at him. 

 

Later, when he returned to the dungeon, he vomited. 

  
  


“The Slytherin dungeons were closed off and the dormitories relocated, as you know,” McGonagall said, walking with Harry down the corridor to her office. 

“What do you use them for now?” Harry asked, knowing nothing in Hogwarts ever really was eliminated, only repurposed or left to rot. Part of him hoped it was the latter, thinking that perhaps if there was any trace of Malfoy left, it would be there. 

“Storage,” McGonagall replied, smiling tightly.

“Oh,” Harry replied. He couldn’t help but feel as though she was hiding something, but he had been accused of being overly suspicious since the war, and to be frank, who wouldn’t be? 

 

“We don’t have many free offices,” she continued. “There was quite a bit of shuffling for the more desirable ones as teachers have come and.. Gone in the last few years, and I’m afraid the biggest space left is Severus’s old suite. I’ll have it cleared out and filled back in with some newer things, if you’d like to take it. It’s in the dungeons, so it’s near the kitchens.” 

She remembered his tendencies to go to the kitchen for snacks, then. Harry couldn’t say he wouldn’t feel odd staying in Snape’s rooms, when there had been so many years with no love lost between them. He couldn’t imagine making a space that had belonged to Severus Snape for so long his own. Then again, without the Slytherin common rooms in the dungeons anymore, there wouldn’t be as many students wandering around there once classes were over. 

“I guess I’ll take it, then,” Harry answered, trying to push his hesitations aside. It was only a room. Whoever lived there had nothing to do with it. Snape’s offices were now just vacant rooms. The Slytherin dungeons were just vacant rooms now, too. 

 

Harry was startled by a pressure on his legs, looking down to see a calico winding around his shins. 

“Hello,” he said softly, bending to scratch her chin. 

She meowed back to him rather intelligently, leaning into his hand. 

“What’s your name? You’re much prettier than Mrs. Norris, unless my memory serves me wrong,” he said. 

“No, she belongs to one of the students. Not sure which, as she’s always wondering on her own.. And appears to have been abandoned here for the summer holiday” McGonagall replied. 

“Are you quite sure she isn’t a student?” he asked, motioning to his own glasses and looking back at the cat. Her markings looked remarkably like glasses, a trait he knew both McGonagall and Rita Skeeter shared in their animagus form. 

“I’d know if she was,” she answered shortly. 

“There were animagus in the castle before without you knowing,” Harry pointed out, referencing his father and his friends. He stood from his crouched position, the cat walking away at a leisurely pace. 

“Fool me once, Potter,” McGonagall replied lightly, raising her eyebrows at him. 

“Right,” Harry replied, though he couldn’t help the little whisper of doubt in his mind. 

 

They arrived at Dumbledore’s office, now McGonagall’s. It made Harry want to laugh, how unchanged the castle looked while at the same time being completely different. Or maybe it made him want to cry. 

 

He followed McGonagall into her office, where she continued to speak. 

“Seeing as the castle is mostly empty this time of year, apart from Hagrid and myself, you’ll have to go to the kitchens to get your meals, but you’ll be so close, I doubt that will be a problem,” she carried on. 

Harry sighed with relief. He knew the castle would be mostly empty for the beginning of his stay, but still, the idea of having to eat in the Great Hall, but the idea of being in public, where people who thought they knew him could speculate, made him feel sick to his stomach. 

“You’ll have until next term to get everything all ready for the students. You will, of course, have full use of the library and any leftover materials in the Defense room.” 

Harry nodded. 

“I expect you will want a day or two to settle in, but I would appreciate it if you began preparing for the next term by the end of the week,” McGonagall said firmly, eyeing him suspiciously. “I hope you will be a better professor than you were a student.”

“I hope so, too,” Harry chuckled darkly. 

“Well, luckily for you, you don’t have to write any papers. Just read them,” McGonagall quipped. She glanced at the clock on the wall and back to him. “Your rooms should be ready in half an hour. I trust you can busy yourself until then? Visit Hagrid, perhaps, before he comes after you with a scent dog?” 

  
  


Harry walked back out into the hall, wandering through the castle for about ten minutes before finding himself walking out into the yard towards a familiar shack. 

Like he suspected, being on the castle grounds didn’t feel quite as much like coming home as he would have hoped.

  
  


iii. 

He was back. 

Draco had seen him, had almost run into him, in the hall in front of the Slytherin dungeons. He stayed back, less than twenty feet away, in the shadows, though disillusioned, and watched the other man. 

Potter ran his hand over the stone that made up the doorway for the dungeons, examining it. He took his wand and tapped the wall, but to no avail. 

He paused, looking up and down the hall, before murmuring “Pure-blood.” 

Draco winced. 

“No, of course they’ve changed the password since then,” Harry said to himself quietly. He sighed, pressing his right hand flat against the stone. He clenched the hand to a fist, leaning his forehead against the wall. “Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he repeated, and Draco felt his chest tighten. 

 

He wanted to step closer, the feeling only intensified by the knowledge that he couldn’t.  _ What are you looking for, Potter?  _ The question sat on his tongue, at the very tip of it, beating against the back of his teeth, but he didn’t let it escape. It would be so easy. It would be so easy to ask it, Potter would jump and turn to look at him and then…. And then he would run, to tell McGonagall, and it would be over. He would be found out. So instead, he watched.

 

“You aren’t going to believe this,” Potter began, his voice still hushed just enough to be hard to hear, his forehead still pressed against the stone, “But I think I miss you. I think I miss you more than just about anyone. And I am almost glad you aren’t here to gloat about it.  _ Almost. _ ” 

 

Draco froze. The feeling was back, or rather, it was leaving his hands at a rather rapid speed, forcing him to tuck his wand away in his coat pocket, lest he risk dropping it and making a noise. If he didn’t know any better, he would think Potter was addressing him. Who else would he miss that could have been behind that door? No one. He couldn’t think of a single soul, yet it still felt presumptuous to think it was himself. 

 

“I can’t help but think, had things gone differently,” Harry rambled, his words trailing off. He stood up straighter, pushing himself off the wall. “You would have made a bloody good potions master, Malfoy. I think I would have rather liked that. It doesn’t feel right, being back here without you telling me what a twat I am.”  Potter’s voice quavered as he finished.

 

Draco let himself slump against the wall. He clasped a hand over his mouth to keep any noise from escaping. He was dreaming, he had to be, because if what he was watching was the truth, he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear to know Harry Potter, the man at the center of almost every thought that orbited his mind, missed him. Missed him enough to talk to a locked door in a seemingly empty hallway, and he couldn’t do anything to help him.

 

Just when Draco thought he couldn’t take much more of it, Potter covered his eyes with his hand. 

“Fuck,” Potter said, turning so his back was against the doorway, sliding down until he was sat on the ground. Draco could see even in the dim light the other man had tears running down his cheeks. “I don’t know how to get past you. I didn’t even know you were someone to get past.” 

 

Potter fell silent, apart from his irregular breathing and occasional sniffles. He sat there for what felt like an eternity but must have only been five minutes, then he began to collect himself, lifting his glasses to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. He stood quietly, looking at the entryway once more, shaking his head and began walking  _ towards  _ Draco. 

There was nothing that way that anyone used anymore, unless he wanted a really round about way of getting to the kitchen, or the stairs next to the kitchen, or- that was it. Snape’s office. McGonagall had given him Snape’s office. 

Draco stood still, barely breathing, until he couldn’t see or hear Potter walking away any more, and then waited a beat after that just to be sure. He hurried to the door, whispering the password as quickly as he could and stepping inside, willing the door to close up behind him more quickly. 

 

He collapsed against the door. Something about the whole ordeal made him want to laugh. Potter had been back for less than a day and, already, things were back to the way they were. Potter was up to something and Draco was taking detailed mental notes on him. In school, he never would have owned up to it, but with no one to fool, he would admit now that he spent most of his time watching Potter when the other boy thought he wasn’t being watched. He used tell himself it was because information on Harry got him a long way with his father, but he hadn’t even convinced himself with that one. Mostly because he spent more time fabricating information for his father and secreting away the real things he saw because he liked them better when they belonged just to him. Deep down in at the core of his being, there had always been a longing to be closer to Harry, to understand him further than they ways his family had taught him to.

Now he was watching Potter, simply because it was what he had always done. Draco had missed it. His voice had changed a bit, deeper than he remembered it, but still Harry. Draco chuckled to himself, leaning his head back against the stone. All of Potter had changed a bit. His hair was still a mess, messier, if possible, and still just as maddening as it had been in school. He still wore those ridiculous circular wire rimmed glasses that Draco doubted had ever really been in fashion, but they were a bit more expensive-looking now. His clothes fit better than they ever had in school, a fact Draco couldn’t categorize as better or worse because he could see just how fit Potter was, which was  _ very. _ He was still short, or at least shorter than Draco. The last time he had seen Harry, he had only had about half an inch on him, but he had grown nearly three inches the year he “died,” matching his father’s six foot stature. He knew that would have bothered Harry, if he could have seen. 

He wanted Harry to see. See that Draco was taller than him, see that he had changed, see that he was sorry. That he missed him, too. More than anything. He shook his head, feeling a sudden sink in his gut. What was McGonagall thinking, putting Potter so close to him?  He was going to have to be better about hiding with Potter in the castle because, as McGonagall had expected, his penchant for snooping had not diminished with age. What she hadn’t factored in, and what he hadn’t expected, was how hard it would be for him to hide, because it seem his snooping would be Malfoy-centric. He didn’t know how many times he could find Harry in a state outside his door before he revealed himself. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be much longer. 


	4. Chapter 4

It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid. Harry tore through the door of Snape’s-  _ his-  _ study and hurried to the back suite, which housed his bathroom and bedroom, yanking off his glasses haphazardly as he did so. 

He hadn’t.  _ He hadn’t.  _

 

But he had. He ran his hand over his face and into his hair. He had felt something, someone. 

_ No, you hope you felt something. You wanted so badly to feel something that you did,  _ he thought to himself in a voice that sounded oddly like Hermione’s. 

Hogwarts’ hauntings were so flamboyant that the inkling he felt could hardly have been one. That had always surprised him about every ghost he had encountered; they seemed so much like real people, only… _ less. _ None of that invisible entities nonsense Muggles seemed so keen on. But this had felt like something of that nature. He felt eyes on him, he felt a sick, prickly feeling, almost like electricity in the air, the way he felt when someone so badly wanted to ask you something, to get your attention, but was waiting for you to make the first move. He felt it, but he had seen nothing. He supposed it was entirely plausible that ghosts could make themselves as visible or invisible as they wished, but he hardly thought Malfoy would opt for the latter. He would want to gloat about how his skin would never wrinkle and he would have a great head of hair for all eternity while all his peers became aged and ugly. 

No, he could not imagine Malfoy as a subtle ghost, although he had toned down a bit during his later years. 

 

“Drop it, Harry,” he muttered to himself, walking over to the bathroom. His bathroom things had been unpacked, by the house elves, he assumed. He snatched his flannel from the rim of the sink, wetting it with cold water and wiping his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked ruddy, his cheeks pink from rubbing at them. He had promised Hagrid he would have dinner with him, so pink and ruddy would have to do. He only hoped Hagrid wouldn’t ask what had happened. 

  
  


***

 

“’s bin lonely without yeh, Harry,” Hagrid said for about the hundredth time since he had cleared the table. 

Harry hadn’t eaten much. He’d not felt himself since that afternoon, after his time in the dungeons. 

“I’m sorry it’s been so long,”  Harry replied. Again. 

“Not yer fault, is it? I understan’ not wantin’ to be bothered an’ all,” Hagrid replied, although Harry did not believe he was happy to be excluded from Harry’s life for so long. No one had been. 

Fang howled suddenly, making the both of them jump. 

 

Hagrid stood quickly, hurrying over to the window and pulling back the curtain. The sun had set maybe half an hour earlier, and the candle light reflected off the window from where Harry sat, making it difficult to see out of the glass. Hagrid, however, seemed to have spotted something. 

 

“Damn wolf,” he muttered. 

“Wolf?” Harry asked, standing up at joining Hagrid at the window, which was not an easy task, seeing how much space Hagrid took up. 

 

There, at the edge of the forest, stood a white wolf. 

“He keeps comin’ out of the forest, he does, an’ getting real close to the grounds. I don’ like it one bit, but McGonagall told me I shouldn’ worry abou’ it. Says he doesn’ go abou’ killing anything an’ so who am I to kick him out? I say jus’ because he hasn’t killed summat yet doesn’ mean he won’t,” Hagrid said, with distaste. 

Harry was surprised. Hagrid normally loved animals, especially ones with potential to kill. 

“Why don’t you try and feed him to make sure he doesn’t kill anything?” Harry offered. He couldn’t take his eyes off the wolf outside. It slunk along the edge of the forest, but not in a way that suggested sneaking. The elegance in its movement almost seemed learned, the way it held its haunches, the movement of its tail, even the way it cocked its ears. There was an air of dignity about it that Harry did not associate with wild animals. 

“I don’t like ‘im. He’s just not righ’, Harry,” Hagrid eyed the animal suspiciously. 

 

Harry agreed that the wolf wasn’t right, but he didn’t think it was bad. He sat with Hagrid half an hour more, all the while his mind unable to move on from the wolf. Finally, he found it had been long enough for him to leave without appearing rude, and made to do so. 

 

Hagrid caught him in a bone crushing hug before he made his way out of the door. 

“I missed yeh, Harry. Don’ be a stranger,” he said squeezing all the breath out of Harry. 

“I won’t, Hagrid,” Harry laughed. 

“An’ be careful on yer way back up to the castle,” Hagrid warned. “Tha’ wolf, yeh know.” 

“Right,” Harry nodded. 

 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and began the walk back to the castle. It felt strange. It was his second time making the trek today and about his thousandth time making it in his life, but somehow, it felt longer. 

 

He let his thoughts wander back to the Slytherin dungeons and how he might get in. A simple unlocking charm wouldn’t work, or else students would have been breaking into different house’s dormitories willy nilly. He supposed he could hardly ask McGonagall, either, as she seemed rather tight-lipped about the whole thing. He was half wondering if he could blow a hole in the wall of the dungeon when he noticed something move out of the corner of his eye. 

 

He gasped. The wolf. 

 

It was walking right up against the castle wall, so close its side rubbed against the stone. It seemed to notice Harry in the same instance, stopping in its tracks. 

 

There was only about twenty feet between them. 

 

Harry dropped to a squat and held out his hand, as though the animal in front of him were a common house dog. 

 

“Hi,” he called softly. “I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me.” 

The wolf tensed at Harry’s voice, but did not make to run away. 

“What are you doing so close to the castle? Hagrid doesn’t like it too much, best not let him see,” Harry continued, standing again and walking slowly towards the wolf his hand still extended. He stopped when he had halved the distance and returned to a squat. 

“Come on now, I won’t bite,” Harry said. 

The wolf let out a snort that Harry felt sounded strangely akin to a laugh, and then began to inch slowly towards him. 

Finally, the wolf reached his fingertips, but did not sniff him like a normal dog would. Instead they sat and looked up at Harry, their eyes eerily intelligent. They cocked their head. 

Harry noticed up close that the wolf was not a true white, but rather a white gold. 

“Aren’t you a pretty thing? I told Hagrid you were nothing to worry about,” Harry murmured. He reached out and pet the wolf’s head, but drew his hand back as soon as it made contact. A wave of unease came over him, that sick feeling he had felt in the hall earlier. 

The wolf did not move, other than to look away from Harry, turning their nose into the air, as though offended. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Harry said out loud, feeling suddenly defensive. 

The wolf looked at him out of the corner of their eye. 

Harry was struck with how human the expression was. It reminded him of when he would talk to Sirius when… Oh.  _ Oh _ .

“Who-” Harry began but the question died in his throat. He cleared it and began again. “Who, exactly, are you?” 

The wolf’s grey eye dragged away from him, looking forwards once more, only more pointedly this time. 

“A student?” 

The wolf huffed. 

“No?” 

Nothing. 

“A professor, then?” 

The laugh-ish snort returned.

“No again?” 

The wolf scratched at their ear with their back paw, as if to say, “Just a wolf, thanks.”

“I know you’re not,” Harry said, his voice dropping. “You know who I am, don’t you?” 

Another huff Harry chose to read as an affirmative. 

“Then you know I was rather close to Sirius Black. I know an animagus when I see one,” he said,  _ most of the time,  _ he added mentally. 

 

The wolf turned back to look at him, narrowing their eyes. 

“You’re not helping your case,” Harry pointed out. “Because you clearly understand me.” 

Their eyes became impossibly narrower. 

“You’re a bit rubbish at being a dog, mate,” Harry laughed. 

The wolf snapped at him half-heartedly. 

“So, will you tell me?” 

The wolf looked at him intently for a moment, then stood, and began to walk away from Harry, back towards the wood. 

“Hey!” Harry called to him, but the wolf didn’t look back. 

Harry watched them disappear into the line of the trees, becoming more convinced with each step that, whatever was going on in this castle, whatever haunting he felt, had a lot to do with that damn dog. 

  
  


Potter stood outside the castle for a long time, longer than Draco liked to stay in the forest, but he had little choice. 

Thankfully, a torrent of summer rain forced him back inside, giving Draco cover to sneak back into the castle.  He hurried back to his quarters, moving painfully slowly once he got to the door, hoping that if he was quiet enough, he might be able to hear if anyone was there. He didn’t know if Potter still had the Invisibility Cloak, but he would be surprised if he didn’t. 

“ _ Sepultura”  _ he whispered, barely a breath. 

 

The elves had left some food on Draco’s table, a Shepherd’s pie that Harriet had clearly nibbled, and a small piece of cake. His stomach rumbled at the sight of it, and he meant to eat, he really had but his mind was otherwise occupied. He couldn’t stop thinking about how Harry had reached out to touch him and then pulled away quickly, as if he were hurt. How all he had to do was touch him to see through his disguise. He knew he should have stayed back, should have acted more like a wild fucking animal, but the pull he felt in his chest just to be a little bit  _ closer  _ was too strong. How it felt to have someone’s eyes on him and have them really see him instead of see through him, and how if felt for those eyes to be  _ Harry’s _ . He of course planned on telling McGonagall that the interaction was inevitable, that he was cornered, that he had just sat there and let Harry talk to him. That was, he planned on telling her that eventually. 

 

He had a feeling once she knew they had made contact, Harry would have to go. Either that, or he would.

  
  


iii. 

Harry had commenced his studies in the library. Or he was trying  to. His mind wandered back to the animagus on the grounds relatively often. He had been out every night since trying to spot them again, but to no avail. Either they had left, or they were making sure that he didn’t know they were there. He was almost sure they weren’t malicious, but most of the people that felt they needed disguises at Hogwarts were not people he would want to meet again. Still, he could not bring himself to report it to the headmaster, not until he at least tried to figure out who it was on his own. He supposed he had never been too good at turning down a challenge. 

When he wasn’t thinking about the animagus, he was trying to think up ways to get into the Slytherin dungeons. They consumed him, and not just in waking. In his dreams, he would find himself in the common room, a green tinge light filtering in from the windows that looked out into the lake. The rest of the room was too dark to make out, but he could tell it was not the same as the last time he had seen it. He wandered blindly, bumping into things until he came to the door of the dormitories. It was only a wooden door, not so difficult to penetrate, but he could never get it to open. He would press his ear to the door and swear he could hear something on the other side, breathing, the rustling of bed linens, faint whisperings, even the quiet mew of a cat, but never anything that  _ meant  _ anything to him. 

 

He had fire called Ron and Hermione once since his relocation. It had gone as he expected. 

“I’m so glad you’ve finally found something to occupy your time, Harry! Although, out of the three of us, I would never have pinned you as the one to end up a professor,” Hermione had laughed, and he had to agree. 

“How do you like it back there, mate?” Ron had asked, seeming as equally chuffed with the news as Hermione. 

“I like it fine. Not the same without everyone here, obviously, but better than Grimmauld Place.” 

He had paused for a moment before adding, “I think something odd is going on here, though.” 

“Merlin, Harry, it’s  _ Hogwarts. _ Something odd is always going on there,” Hermione said rolled her eyes. 

He had left it at that, realizing that they probably would just think he was being paranoid, or worse,  _ worry  _ about him if he elaborated. 

They had ended the call by telling Harry he was going to be a wonderful professor, which he prayed would be true. He supposed that he would be a better professor than he was a student if it wasn’t for that damned locked door. His downfalls as a student had not been for lack of intelligence, or potential, but rather because he was distracted by some rather pressing issues. Of course, just what was wasting away in the defunct Slytherin dungeons was not as pressing of an issue as defeating the Dark Lord, but it was the only one he had. So maybe it was an excuse not to focus, but it didn’t feel like it. 

 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been in the library, only that he had gone in early that morning and how the sunlight streaming through the windows signaled it was sometime afternoon. He had barely made a dent in the work he wanted to go over that week, only the first folder of old lesson plans being moved to the “done” pile. To be fair, it had only been three days of studying in his five days of being back at Hogwarts, but he knew that if he was working at his full capacity, he could easily be getting through a folder or two a day. He sighed, flipping the page he was staring at back to look at the page before, not at all surprised that he did not remember any of the information he had apparently already worked through. He chewed on his pencil- he had switched to pencils after leaving Hogwarts, quills being too much work for what they were worth- and began scratching down notes again, hoping maybe the third time through the folder would be a charm. 

 

“Potter.” 

Harry jumped, dropping his pencil with a clatter as he turned to the source of the voice. 

“I am glad to see you have your studies underway,” McGonagall continued, walking around the table where he worked. 

“Yes, well, wouldn’t want to get behind,” Potter stuttered, reaching down to the floor to retrieve the pencil. 

“Don’t worry, I know if there was anything else for you to do, you would be off doing that,” McGonagall smiled at him. “Speaking of going off, Hagrid mentioned you seem to be spending a lot of time wandering the grounds after dark. Is that so?” 

“I suppose I have been spending a bit of time outside after dark, yeah,” Harry affirmed, trying to sound casual, focusing his gaze back to the folder in front of him. 

“Hardly the wisest move, Potter. I’ve heard some of the animals that live in the woods are rather brave this summer, coming close to the castle,” she said in a tone that told Harry if he looked up he would find her squinting down at him suspiciously behind her square frames. 

It struck him that maybe she was hoping she would tell him what he had seen. Maybe she had a sneaking suspicion as to what- or who- was roaming the campus and only wanted another person’s input. 

‘About that,” Harry began, then cut himself off. 

“Yes?” McGonagall prompted, rather impatiently. 

“Well, uh,” Harry stuttered. He wasn’t quite ready to give up his own inquest into the matter. If he said something, he would likely never knowing , and not knowing was worse than any other outcome he could imagine. “It’s just that Hagrid warned me about some wolf or dog, or whatever.” 

“Yes, and you’ve seen it?” 

Harry swallowed. 

“Only the once. From the window in Hagrid’s hut,” Harry lied. 

“And not since?” 

“It seems to have made itself scarce,” Harry confirmed. 

“Interesting,” McGonagall answered, sounding satisfied. “Please do tell me if you see it again, Potter. Won’t want it wandering about when the students return.” 

“Of course,” Harry said, smiling at McGonagall in what he hoped was a convincing manner. 

McGonagall nodded and made her way back towards the exit of the library. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

Something, he decided, was off. There had been plenty of dangerous things on the Hogwarts grounds in his time there, and McGonagall had rarely bat an eye at him sneaking about, apart from giving the illusion that she was upset with him unless he really mucked up. That, and the fact that he had bested Voldemort many times before he had even finished puberty.  It seemed odd to him that something so ordinary as a wolf would cause her to worry so much, especially now that he was a grown man. He immediately regretted not telling her, because if she saw the wolf as a threat, he could have helped. God knows it had been a while since he engaged in any actual defense magic. 

 

She knew something. Just what, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he would need to come clean to find out. 


	5. Chapter 5

Harry decided, after a couple days thought, that it didn’t feel right not telling McGonagall there was an animagus on the grounds. Had he been younger, he may have waited a bit longer, but since he had learned just what kind of people hid in the wizarding world, well, he couldn’t reconcile putting Hagrid and McGonagall and anyone else on the grounds in danger. He would have to swallow his pride and tell McGonagall sooner rather than later, although he was no closer to knowing the wolf’s identity than he had been a week ago. Plus, now that he was grown, maybe she would let him help tackle the problem instead of insisting he stay on the sidelines. Though that had hardly stopped him in school. 

 

It felt so wrong, in fact, that Harry had barely been sleeping. 

He took back to roaming the hallways at all hours of the night, avoiding a certain section of the dungeons with all his might, but ending up there inevitably. He had felt the strange presence in the hall twice more. The feeling of being watched, accompanied by that same tug, that same feeling of waiting for someone else to speak. But no one ever did, and he never saw anything that gave him pause, so he chalked it up to the feeling being what he  _ wanted  _ feel. That didn’t explain why he had only felt it a few times and not every time he entered the Slytherin section of the dungeons, but if he ignored that, it was a good enough explanation as any. In his inability to sleep, he found himself dressed and ready for the day by six in the morning, deciding to head down to the kitchens and eat something before heading to McGonagall’s office. When he got to the kitchens, he found he didn’t have much of an appetite, settling for a cup of coffee. He worried that it was too early to go see McGonagall just yet, and decided that there was no harm in going by the Slytherin dungeons again. Just to look. As he rounded the corner to the dungeons, he heard the faint click of footsteps. He stopped just at the edge of the corner, not daring to look, listening. He wasn’t sure why he was hiding, but he felt that who ever was coming had just as little business being there as he did. 

_ “Sepultura”  _ a familiar female voice said firmly. He heard the clicking of bricks and turned to see the tail end of green robes disappearing into the Slytherin doorway. 

 

McGonagall. 

 

Harry stood, frozen, waiting to hear the doorway open again, but it did not come. He waited ten minutes, then twenty, and still she did not exit. That settled it for him. 

 

Whatever she was hiding in there, he was going to find out. Tonight. The animagus could wait. 

 

“I don’t see what’s so hard about staying away from him,” McGonagall started again, pacing across the old Slytherin common room. 

“He won’t let me!” Draco complained. 

“Then disillusion yourself, Malfoy! He can hardly pester you if he doesn’t know you’re there!” 

“I have been!” 

“Then I don’t understand the problem!”

“I think it would be better if-” 

“Mr. Malfoy. There is nowhere for me to send you. Apart from your parents, I am the only one that knows the truth. You know I can’t send you off of the grounds. You’ll surely be found out. As for Mr. Potter, the poor boy was withering away and I had Albus Dumbledore’s portrait in my ear telling me that I can’t let a boy with such potential waste it. I don’t care how much you dislike him, or whatever feelings of animosity you may still harbor, I won’t turn him away simply because you don’t want hi-” 

“That’s not why!” Draco yelled, suddenly, startling even himself. It was the loudest he had been in years. He didn’t know he was capable of such a noise still. 

McGonagall stilled. “Then why, Mr. Malfoy?” she asked stiffly. 

“I can’t stand to see him like this,” Draco admitted, quietly. 

“Well, in time, it will get better,” she assured him. “Once he starts teaching.” 

“I don’t know that it will.”

“Don’t be so contrariwise,” she chastised. 

“I found him, the first night, standing outside the Slytherin dungeons. Talking to dead people and crying. And by dead people I mean specifically me,” Draco started slowly. “And how he misses me.” 

McGonagall opened her mouth to speak and then closed it, looking rather like a fish. 

“I’ve already brought so much pain into his life,” Draco continued, “That I was never able to amend. I think it will ruin me to see him so torn up like this when I could so easily fix it, if only things were a little bit different. I think I can only hold up for so long before I ruin everything. It’s already almost more than I can bear.” 

McGonagall was silent for a moment that stretched on for what felt like eternity. It was the closest Draco had ever been to admitting everything out loud.

“You never hated him, did you?” she asked gently. 

Draco smiled back at her weakly. 

“No, I suppose you didn’t. I suppose that was another act to please your father.” 

“I suppose it was.” 

 

He couldn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see the sorry look on her face. 

Finally she said, “Let me figure out what I can do. We’ll meet the same time tomorrow.” 

Draco nodded. 

 

When she left, he looked around at his room, feeling a bit of melancholy sink into his stomach. He reckoned they wouldn’t be his rooms for much longer. Not if he got his way. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Harry supposed the only plus to not having grown since his school days was that his old Invisibility Cloak still covered him down to his feet, if he crouched.

He had been standing in the dungeon hallway for thirty minutes. He had heard the brick wall clicking closed as he turned the corner upon his arrival, but he hadn’t been sure if that meant someone had just gone in or come out. The hours between morning and nightfall had been treacherous, but those mere minutes in the hallway were utter agony. After half an hour, the curiosity at what was on the other side outweighed his fear of whomever he may encounter.

He closed the space between the door and himself, muttering the password.

_“Sepultura.”_

The bricks clicked open. Harry looked down to each end of the hallway, and upon seeing no one, entered the common rooms.

  


They were not in the state of disrepair that Harry had expected. In fact, they looked quite lived in. There was a dining table at one end, a desk covered in potions equipment towards the middle, and a desk at the very end. There were books strewn across most of the flat surfaces, as well as floor to ceiling shelves filled with more books, a lot of them Muggle by the looks of them.

Harry walked slowly towards where the boys’ dormitories had been, peeking his head inside. There was only one bed in there, big enough to fit about three Hagrids comfortably. Lying on the bed he saw the cat with the bifocal markings he had seen around the castle. She looked up at him, seeming to see him despite his cloak, sighed, and returned her head to hear paws. Someone was living here.

 

That had been the last thing he suspected. He thought, perhaps, McGonagall was hiding some artifact from the war that she didn’t want the students fiddling with, or something that Dumbledore had entrusted her with upon his death. What he did not expect was apartments.

 

He stood quietly, listening for any sign of life, but determined apart from the cat, he was very much alone. He ventured back into the common room, walking slowly along the bookshelf and running his finger along the spines. He stopped when he came to a rather thick, tall book with an unmarked binding. He pulled it out and leafed through it briefly.

It appeared to be clippings from newspapers and magazines. Upon further study, he noticed most of them seemed to be about him. There were a few about Hermione and Ron, their wedding announcement, a bit about Ron becoming a partner at Wizard Wheezes, a bit about Hermione becoming an Auror. There were one or two clippings about Neville, some about Ginny, but those mostly concerned him. It seemed he was the star of this scrapbook. The only other person who came close in terms of being mentioned was Draco Malfoy. Intrigued, Harry carried the book over to the desk, sitting in the chair. He let his arms peek out from below the Invisibility Cloak, but remained covered, in case anyone should return.

 

He opened to the first page to find an article he had saved himself, the one written the day he had given Malfoy his wand back. On the page directly across from it, there was a page from a gossip magazine he didn’t subscribe to detailing the same meeting, but the photograph was taken while Harry and Malfoy were sat at the table. The pained look that Harry had memorized from the _Prophet_ photo did not feature on Malfoy’s face here. Instead, it showed the blonde boy watching Harry as Harry stared fixedly at his own hands. So fixedly, in fact, that he had failed to notice the smile playing on Malfoy’s lips, and a touch of what Harry would call fondness, if he didn’t know better, in his eyes. He read the headline.

 

**_New Beginnings: Romeo and… Romeo?_ **

 

Harry hurriedly skimmed the rest of the article.

 

_It’s not hard to see that Draco Malfoy, 17 year old former Death Eater, only has eyes for his former nemesis, Harry Potter. But then again, who doesn’t? Potter is set up to be the most sought after man for the next decade, at least. But has Malfoy lucked out? Sources close to both say this meeting may have been more than a simple truce. The look on a certain blonde’s face seems to point that way. Is a forbidden love between two star crossed teens on the horizon? What of Potter’s current flame, Ginny Weasley? More as the story unfolds._

 

There was a bit of writing scrawled in the margin of the article in a slanted, clean script.

 

_Was hardly making eyes at him. HARDLY._

 

Harry watched the photograph for a little while longer, watching Malfoy’s eyes skim across his face and the smile on his lips became more evident. How had he missed that? What about his hands had been more interesting? Why couldn’t he have looked up? More importantly, what did it mean? Clearly, the magazine was just looking for anything to publish about the two of them. But what was Malfoy really thinking? Surely, that Harry’s hair was a disaster or despite being a hero, his clothes were still cheap, something terrible like that which only he would find amusing.

 

The next page was Malfoy’s obituary. Harry could barely bring himself to look at it, turning the page quickly.

 

The next page was an article that was not unfamiliar to him, but was one that he certainly had avoided. It was the story Ginny had leaked on him to get back at him for breaking up with her. She had since apologized, and he had accepted it. They had only been kids at the time, hardly ready to handle their emotions, let alone the press coverage they received. But just because the article was water under the bridge didn’t mean it didn’t sting to look at. Mostly because there was some truth to it.

 

**_Potter Carrying a Torch for Former Nemesis?_ **

 

He wasn’t sure carrying a torch was the right phrase for it. But then again, it felt different than any other grief he had experienced. He felt as though anything he could say to the others, they already knew. But with Draco, _he_ hardly knew what he wanted to say to him. It was the only loss he had experience that was surrounded so entirely with want. He wanted to say sorry, he wanted to know Malfoy, he wanted Malfoy to be happy. He wanted so much for Malfoy.

 

He shook his head and turned the page, finding a piece of parchment with the same slanted script swirling across it.

 

~~_Potter._ ~~

~~_I’ve started writing letters I can never send. How stupid is that? I wanted to ask_ _if you felt like the whole rivalry thing was really less about hating each other and more about not knowing what to do with how much we_ _if that whole thing I’ve read about you and the Weaslette is true?_~~

~~_Potter,_ ~~

~~_You’re really sulking about over_ ~~

~~_Potter,_ ~~

~~_It’s really pathetic that you are wasting your physical prime apparently pining over some dead_ ~~

_Potter._

_I miss you, too._

  


Harry slammed the book shut. This was some cruel joke. He couldn’t imagine why McGonagall would go through such lengths to play out some long con on him, but he would definitely would be having words with her, and most likely resigning. That note had clearly been written so he would think.. It was clear they were meant to be written by.. He couldn’t even bring himself to think it. His eyes stung with tears.

 

“Stop it, stop, you’re being pathetic,” he told himself, rubbing at his eyes.

 

The cat ventured out of the bedroom, meowing at him. Harry stopped to look at her, then was made aware of a distant clicking noise coming from the entrance. He hurriedly ducked under the desk, pulling his cloak tight around him.

 

He held his breath.

 

A tall, cloaked and hooded figure of about six feet entered the room, water dripping from the rim of their hood.

 

“It’s absolutely pissing down,” they said, as the cat hopped up onto the table next to them. “I’m just back for dinner, I’ll be going back out later. Feeling a bit restless” they continued, reaching out to scratch the cat’s head. They then reached up to pull back their hood. Harry had to bite his hand to keep from yelping.

 

It couldn’t be. It absolutely could not be. But it was. Right in front of him, as plain as day, was Draco Malfoy. He was taller than he had been, and broader in the shoulders. His skin was incredibly pale, but not sickly, more porcelain-like, his cheeks a high pink with exertion. His hair was the same white blonde it had always been, but he was wearing it a little longer and not quite as quaffed as he had in school. It fell in his face as he unfastened his cloak, and he tucked it behind his ear, where it remained for all of one second before promptly falling again. Back in school, Malfoy hadn’t worn Muggle clothes much, but now he wore a pair of blue jeans, a grey sweater, and a pair of leather work boots that looked incredibly out of place on him, but somehow still managed to look put together in such an overwhelmingly Draco Malfoy way.

 

The cat meowed.

 

“I hardly think there’s a chance of anyone seeing me with the rains like this,” Draco replied, as though the cat had spoken. His voice. Harry hadn’t realized how much he had missed it until he heard it. It was still the same slow, drawl that had gotten Harry’s blood to a boiling point for all those years, but there was something different about it. All it’s sharp edges had melted away, and now it was something soft and welcoming.

The cat meowed again, heading towards the door.

“No, you can’t go out,” Draco chuckled. “You’ll just come back all wet and be grumpy with me.”

 

Harry’s heart clenched at how easily Draco laughed. He had never seen him this at ease. Draco pushed his hair back from his face again and sat at the table, which had remnants of some sort of tarte sat on it. Draco picked at it disinterestedly, picking up a book and looking through it. He didn’t seem to be reading it really so much as holding it. He set it down in his lap for long periods of time, during which he would sit and stare at the windows that looked into the lake, chewing at his thumb.

 

Harry was so busy watching the man in front of him that he almost forgot that man wasn’t supposed to be breathing, let alone sitting and daydreaming fifteen feet away from him. This is what McGonagall had been hiding. Draco had been here all along, locked in the dungeons for most of it, if his complexion was anything to go by.

 

The cat, now closer to the door, mewled again, startling both Draco and Harry out of their thoughts.

 

“Potter, you absolute menace,” Draco sighed.

Harry tensed at his name. Draco knew he was there, somehow, had sensed hi-

“I already told you you can’t go out tonight, Harriet,” Draco said, walking over to the entrance.

The cat hissed.

“Ok, you can go out, but if you get soaked, you’re sleeping in the hall tonight, Potter,” Draco warned. “I don’t need my room smelling like a wet cat.”

Draco tapped the door and let out the cat, returning to the table.

 

…..Draco named his cat Potter.

 

Draco was alive, he had a cat named Potter, and, Harry realized now that reality had set in, he kept a book of all the articles he had ever been mentioned in. And he missed Harry.

 

But he said that he missed Harry, too, which implied he knew that Harry missed him. Which meant he probably heard Harry that night. Of course, he had heard him that night, he had been sobbing outside of his room. The entire lower half of the castle probably knew.

 

Draco was stirring again, standing up and refastening his cloak. Harry crawled carefully out from under the desk, trying to make as little noise as possible. He wasn’t letting Draco out of his sight. He followed Draco to the door, slipping out just seconds before it began to close. Draco looked up and down the hall, pulled his hood up, and muttered a disillusionment spell.

 

Harry could still hear the slight scuff of Malfoy’s shoes against the stone, following it as best he could. They exited the castle. The rain had let up some, but there was still a light drizzle. Within moments, a white wolf appeared on the grass twenty paces in front of Harry. He stretched his legs before beginning a light trot towards the woods, seemingly unaware of Harry.

 

Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, bunching it haphazardly and stuffing it into his pocket.

 

“Wait!” he called before he could stop himself.

The wolf’s gait faltered as it turned to look back at Harry.

“I need to talk to you,” he yelled chasing after it.

It stopped, looking at Harry with bewilderment.

Harry ran until he caught up with the wolf.

“I can’t believe it,” he coughed, out of breath,  before falling to his knees.

  


_Run, you idiot,_ Draco told himself, but Harry’s voice held him fastened to where he stood.

“I can’t believe it,” Harry coughed, falling to his knees. “I can’t believe it.”

Draco stood still, unsure of what Harry was referring to.

“You’re a fucking animagus,” Harry laughed, still out of breath. “I knew you were bloody fucking brilliant, but this is really impressive. The only thing more impressive is that you’re-” Harry seemed to stop himself.

He studied Draco momentarily, his eyes locking with his own, making Draco feel a bit naked.

“You’re really him, aren’t you?”

Draco didn’t respond. He didn’t know who Harry thought he was, but he wasn’t about blow his cover.

Harry swallowed.

“Draco,” he finally said, his voice cracking. “Draco, you’re alive.”

 

Draco’s vision began fading at the edges, sinking into complete darkness. The last thing he remembered was the grass rapidly approaching his face.

 

iii.

He was beautiful. God, he was beautiful.   
Harry felt like a creep, sitting at the edge of his bed and staring at him like this, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the other boy’s face. He tried to write it off by making the excuse that he never thought he would see this face, in the flesh, again and that was why he couldn’t look away, but that excuse only lasted about three minutes. No, he couldn’t look away because he was looking at the singular most beautiful person he had ever seen and that person had somehow managed to go and become even more beautiful.

 

And he was alive. Harry knew he should be angry that he was lied to, that he was made to feel like the world was crumbling beneath him for no reason at all, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He was just so relieved. Each rise and fall of Draco’s chest made the pain that had taken residence in his own dissipate a little.

 

He reached out and brushed Draco’s hair away from his face, not letting his hand linger on the other boy’s face like it so desperately wanted to.

Draco began to stir.

  
  


Draco awoke on his bed. It had just been another dream, thank Merlin.

He stretched his arms, feeling satisfied at the pop in his spine as he did so.

“Oh, thank god, you’re awake.”  
  
Draco’s eyes rocketed open, only to fall upon Harry Potter, sitting at the edge of his bed in the Slytherin dungeons.

 

“You passed out and then you became human again, and you’re too tall to cover with the Invisibility Cloak entirely, so I had to levitate you down here with your feet sticking out. Luckily, no one was there to see,” Harry rambled a bit.

 

“You weren’t supposed to know,” was all Draco could bring himself to say.

“Thanks, Harry. You’re very welcome for not leaving you on the grass in the rain for anyone to see, Malfoy,” Harry said.

“McGonagall will kill me now that you know.”

“Well, being killed doesn’t appear to be all that bad,” Harry said, not without a hint of bitterness.

“Potter, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would bother you.”

“It did.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Draco repeated, sitting up. A silence hung heavy between them.  “It felt like the only option.”

“How?”

“The trial may have gone well, had I gone, but the whole world hated me. Still does. Even if I was exonerated, I couldn’t live with the staring and the whispering. I couldn’t live knowing no one _really_ forgave me,” Draco explained.

“I forgave you.”

“I know.”

 

Harry fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

“We don’t have to tell her,” he said, finally, his eyes meeting Draco’s.

“That you know? No, I suppose we don’t. I could just obliviate you and we could carry on like-”

“No!” Harry interjected quickly.

“No?”

“I won’t tell anyone. Not a soul.”   
“I can’t.”

“Please.”

“ _Potter._ ”

“I-” Harry broke eye contact, settling on the bedding in front of him. “I need to remember you, like this. I need to know you’re okay. What happened to you- what I _thought_ happened to you-  it made me sick.”

Draco sighed, pulling his legs to his chest. His eyes stung.

“The war was over. The war was over and somehow we both survived and the thought of that, for reasons I couldn’t understand, or maybe just didn’t want to understand, made me relieved. I never thought I would be glad that you would live another day to make me feel like an absolute idiot. But then… Then you were gone and I conveniently figured out why I was so relieved we had both survived the moment you were taken away from us. From me,” Harry spoke so quickly, Draco could hardly be sure of what he was hearing.

“And why was that?” Draco asked, his mouth going dry. He knew the answer, had known the answer for a week now, but he wouldn’t let himself believe it until Harry said it to him directly.

Harry laughed humorlessly.

“I don’t want to say it if you’re just going to obliviate me in a few hours.”

“Answer and maybe I won’t.”

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“Maybe is as good as I can give you, Potter.”

 

Harry was silent for a moment, studying Draco’s face intently.

“I guess telling you now and not remembering later is better than never telling you at all.”

“I guess it is.”

“You have an idea of what I am going to say, don’t you?”

“I can only hope my idea is anywhere close.”

 

Harry took a deep breath and Draco braced himself, waiting for whatever Potter was about to tell him. Potter looked at him and swallowed, opening his mouth and closing it again. His gaze fell back to the bed sheets, which he took in his hands, fiddling with the fabric, then rose back to Draco.

“Bloody hell, Potter, spit it ou-”

“Maybe I never hated you,” Potter sputtered.

“Alright, maybe you didn’t, so what?” Draco said, and he could feel their conversation falling back in that old familiar pattern, seeing who could make the other feel dumber with each word.

Potter shot him a chastising glance and Draco tried to ignore the heat he felt rise to his cheeks. So maybe only _he_ was falling back into his old ways. Potter seemed quite determined to be different.

“If your great revelation is that it turns out you don’t mind me so much, I am going to have to ask you to have better revelations from now on,” Draco continued, consciously softening his voice.

“That’s not it,” Potter insisted.

“Merlin’s beard, Potter, get on with it then,” Draco said, his eyes gravitating back towards Potter’s hands, fidgeting with the sheets. He noted that he would only have to move his own a fraction for them to be touching.

“That article,” Potter began. “The one you have saved in your book-”

“You’ve looked through that?” Draco stiffened.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” Potter stuttered. “But I wanted to say it was right.”

Draco gasped for air like a fish out of water. Harry had looked through his book. He tried to regain his composure, but he was sure it was in vain. “Which article, Potter, I have a few saved.”

“You know which one, Malfoy. The one Ginny had done after we broke up. _The_ article.”

“You- Potter, that’s extremely invasive,” Draco swallowed.

“Are you really going to harp on that when I’ve just told you that-“

“I’m _processing,_ Potter,” he spat finding Harry’s eyes again. “I’ve been exiled for going on four years, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to that isn’t Minerva McGonagall in as much time, and you’re telling me you’re.. that you’re.. what _are_ you telling me, Potter? You’ve not said _anything_.”

Harry inhaled sharply, biting off a response. His hands resuming their frantic fidget.

“I’m saying that I don’t hate you, Malfoy,” he finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Thanks, Potter, thank you so fucking much. If you’re quite finished being cryptic, it’s best you leave,” Draco hissed turning on his side to face away from the other boy.

“No-“

“Go.”

“I’m not quite finished.”

“Go anyway.”

  


He heard the rustle of Harry’s clothing as he stood. His heart jumped to his throat as he heard the bedroom door click shut. This was his only chance, and he was letting it slip through his fingers. He rolled over, his head spinning as he stood up too fast, or maybe it was the adrenaline. He tore open the door and raced across the room, grabbing Harry’s wrist just as he reached the door to the hall. Harry stiffened at his touch but didn’t turn around.

Draco pulled gently at his arm until Harry turned to face him. Harry swallowed visibly.

The silence between them physically pained him, but none of the words flying through his mind felt right. Harry opened his mouth to say something idiotic no doubt, something ruinous, something that wouldn’t make the mess of words he had spat out before any clearer. He had to stop him.

Draco fisted his free hand in the collar of Harry’s shirt and pulled him closer, willing himself not to think about how terrible an idea it was to even make _eye contact_ with this man for another second.

“Malfoy.”

The sound of his own name shook him from what must have been a momentary instance of insanity. He let go of Harry’s wrist, letting the hand clutching at Harry’s shirt fall to hang limply. He turned away from Harry shaking his head.

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. Go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Even if I wasn’t, I don’t have a choice.”

Harry sighed.

“You might want to change the password.”

“You might want to forget it,” Draco replied, without turning around.

“I don’t want to,” Harry replied. The entrance opened, seemingly more slowly than it ever had before, and still Harry was gone all too quickly.

“Idiot. You fucking idiot,” Draco murmured.

  


Harry hurried down the hallway back to his rooms.

“I love you, Malfoy. I love you, Draco. I love you, I’m sorry,” he whispered to himself. “See, it’s not that hard to say.”

Yet he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say it out loud, not when Draco was there to hear.

He paused in his stride, fighting the urge to go back. He couldn’t go back, he really couldn’t. He doubted Professor McGonagall was still up, but the possibility that Draco called her down was too great. Not that his presence would change anything. He would eat his own shoes if he wasn’t on the train back to King’s Cross at the end of the summer. He mucked it up. But didn’t he always.

He resumed his walk of shame back towards his corridors. He would begin packing tonight. He didn’t know where he would go. Well, back to Grimmauld Place, obviously, but he didn’t know what he would do. The hope, or rather the fantasy, that Draco had wanted him, even in a small way, had really been one of the only thoughts he had taken solace in since the war. And now… and now he knew that Draco, alive and well- well, alive and breathing and better than dead, if not exactly well- wanted him but wouldn’t have him. Or wanted him, but not enough. Or had wanted him, at some point, but didn’t anymore.

He marvelled at the fact that it didn’t make him feel any better, to know that in some place and time of Draco Malfoy’s life, he had felt something for Harry. But he supposed that was because the knowledge made all of his imagined losses real. The awkward first few meals they would have shared after the war, both worried that the other was just going through the motions of being civil to help move along the post-war unity movement. The first few cautious touches that would lead them both to overthink, because surely, _surely_ he hadn’t meant- But had he? And when they realized that the other _had_ meant it, then they would be facing all the rebuilding they had to do, personally, globally, together instead of separately and so incredibly alone. And maybe they’d have fought, screamed at each other until they were hoarse, thrown things, made an absolute tip of Grimmauld Place with the small wars they waged every night, which was what everyone would have expected. But maybe they would have been happy. Harry liked to think they’d have been happy.

But Draco had been dead. He had been _dead,_ so there was beyond a doubt no possibility of these thoughts being more than a fantasy. But now he was alive, and if only Draco wasn’t so scared, if only McGonagall wasn’t so careful, he could try. It didn’t have to work, but god, he wished they could try.


	7. Chapter 7

“Mr. Potter, it is rather late.”

“I’m sorry, Professor, I realize this is an inconvenience. If it weren’t important, I would have waited until morning,” Harry said, fidgeting nervously on the other side of McGonagall’s desk. “I need to make this right.” 

“Mr. Potter, I haven’t the slightest idea as to what could be so wrong that it warranted making right at two in the morning,” McGonagall sighed. “I was under the impression that these unfortunate late night meetings of ours would end with your learning to behave like an adult.” 

“That’s what I am trying to do, Professor. In telling you.” 

“Telling me what?” 

“I love him, Professor. I love him and for his safety, I feel like it would be better that I left,” Harry said. “I’m sure you agree.” 

McGonagall froze. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

“The wolf. He’s not so much white as he is blonde, isn’t he? Have you ever seen a blonde wolf?” 

“I’m not particularly well versed in the coloration patterns of wolves, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall replied slowly. 

“There wasn’t a body,” Harry continued. 

“What do you mean a  _ body? _ Do you suspect the wolf of having killed someone? Surely not a student, there are none left on the grounds.” 

“Professor, you’re smarter than this. Don’t do me the disservice of pretending you aren’t. His mother’s testimony was the only reason we had to believe the pile of ashes was him. There was no identifiable body.” 

“How?” McGonagall asked, her face darkening as the act she was putting on fell away. 

“I just knew,” Harry lied. He didn’t want Draco to get in trouble for this, for his living arrangement to become any more difficult than it already was. He just wanted him to be happy, as happy as he could be living as a ghost. Because that’s what he was now. A man living in the walls, venturing out into the dark, never speaking to another living soul. A phantom of his former self. “If the person you had fallen in love with was close by, wouldn’t you feel them, Professor? Wouldn’t you just know?” 

“Mr. Potter. Harry. You understand how important it is that no one know he’s alive?” 

“Yes. I don’t understand why you two have done what you’ve done. But it must have been what he wanted. I just want him to be happy.” 

“If that truly is your main concern, then you must also understand why you leaving puts a bad taste in my mouth. I trust you, Potter. Implicitly. But one slip up, and his safety is in jeopardy. Measures must be taken,” McGonagall continued. 

_ Right,  _ Harry thought.  _ She’ll want to obliviate me. _

“You must understand that Mr. Malfoy’s happiness and safety is also my first and foremost concern. Afterall, I risked life and limb even bringing him here in the first place.” 

“Of course,” Harry replied, pushing down the sick feeling in his stomach. 

Obviously, forgetting would be the best course of action for all parties involved. He could go back to his fantasies without knowing there was even a minute chance of them coming to fruition. Draco and McGonagall would remain out of harm’s way. Everyone comes out a winner. Maybe winner was too strong a word. 

“I need to consult Mr. Malfoy. I trust I can take the time to do that without having to worry about you doing anything rash?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then I will see you in a few hours, Mr. Potter.” 

And with that he was dismissed. 

 

“Wake up.” 

Draco was startled out of his sleep by someone shaking his shoulder. 

“We need to talk,” McGonagall said, promptly exiting his bedroom.

She had never come into his apartments before while he was sleeping. She had never set foot in his bedroom. Shaking the sleep from his head, Draco concluded that this did not bode well. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” the headmaster said the moment he walked into the common room, “Mr. Potter called me out of bed at an ungodly hour this morning with the request to take leave of the grounds. Would you like to know his reason?” 

Draco swallowed. He told her. Of course, he told her. 

“He says he realized the wolf on the school grounds was you. Do you know how he knew?” 

Draco failed to answer once more, fixing his eyes on the ground. 

“He says he just knew. He said when you’re in love with a person, you can feel his presence. While I am not entirely inclined to believe that was how he came to his conclusion, I’ve decided not to press him- or you- further.” 

Draco’s breath caught in his throat. Of course he knew what Harry had been trying to say only mere hours earlier, but to hear it in so many words hit him like a ton of bricks. 

“In love?” Draco whispered, glancing up at McGonagall. 

“Of course, I knew. Suspected, at least. With his personal decline beginning when it did, with the announcement of your passing.What I did not suspect was your reciprocation. Not until we last spoke, that is.”

“I’m sorry, Headmaster,” Draco managed, not sure what he was apologizing for. 

She fixed him with an icy stare. 

“You know something must be done.” 

“I know.”

His words hung in the air.

He considered telling her that if she planned to obliviate Harry, she might as well obliviate him, too. But if she did, she better do it all the way back to first year, because he couldn’t remember knowing Harry without remembering that he loved him, and the pain was too much to bear. He didn’t want to have to watch Harry move on, find someone new, while knowing that at one point, he had loved him back. That was a fate worse than death. 

 

McGonagall broke into his thoughts. 

“I was thinking an Unbreakable would do the trick,” McGonagall said. 

“What?” Draco sputtered. 

“An Unbreakable Vow. We’ll have him vow not to tell anyone that you’re still alive. To protect you. Don’t you think?” 

“You’re not? You’re not going to obliviate him?” 

“I must admit that obiliviation was my first thought, as well. But I felt that wouldn’t work well for any of us. It would require Mr. Potter’s removal from his new position, which leaves me without a Defense teacher for yet another year, and him wasting away in that terrible old manor. And for you, well, I’m not a young woman, Mr. Malfoy. I think I should want to retire one day, and you will most definitely outlive me. Who will ensure your safety when I am gone? I think it would be unsurprising should Mr. Potter fill my shoes when I am gone, both in my position as Headmaster and as your protector. Wouldn’t you say?” McGonagall asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“I suppose, but Potter has friends, Professor. Meddling ones, at that. Won’t they want to know why he rarely leaves the grounds?” Draco asked. 

McGonagall turned, pacing along the common room, stopping at the windows looking out into the lake. 

“You’re right. The youngest Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would certainly pose a problem. I suppose we could trust Ronald and Hermione to take a Vow, as well. Then you would have a network, should anything happen to Mr. Potter.” 

“Professor, I don’t understand. Why were you so adamant that Potter not know about my existence if the solution was so easy?” 

“Because, Malfoy, until just a few days ago, I was under the impression that you hated the boy. I had always planned on finding a successor, but Potter did not seem like a viable option. But now that I know you wouldn’t particularly mind his company, I don’t see a better fit. Unless there is someone else you would prefer?” McGonagall asked, walking back towards Malfoy. “Because once he takes the vow, that’s it. He’ll be your sole companion.” 

“You make it sound like we’re getting married or something,” Draco joked weakly. He was sure he wouldn’t mind having Harry around for the rest of his days, but he had known that since he was eleven and had seen Harry getting fitted for his robes. He hadn’t known who Harry was, but he had known he liked him. As for Harry, his feelings were so new, and the longevity of them could reasonably be called into question. Sure, Harry might want this now, but what about in ten years? Fifty? Merlin, a hundred? Wizards did tend to live terribly long lives. 

“It’s not that different, is it? And far more important, anyway,” McGonagall added. “I’ll need to discuss it with Mr. Potter, then I suppose if he agrees, we should be back down here sometime today.” 

“Back down here? Why?” 

“To perform the Vow, of course.” 

“Oh, will I be binding you?” Draco asked, rather nervous. He’d never been a Binder before.

“Of course not.” 

“Then who? Surely not Hagrid.” 

“Me. The bond will between the two of you, Mr. Malfoy.” 

 

A knot formed in Draco’s stomach. Of course.

 

iii. 

“What do you mean I don’t have to leave?” 

Harry was standing in the middle of his office- what would have been his office, if not for Draco, if not for his incredible need to be near him- throwing things into a trunk that had barely been unpacked anyway. McGonagall was hovering near the doorway. 

“I mean, Mr. Potter, that I require you here,” the headmaster said, sounding rather annoyed. “I’m going to ask something of you, and I need you to answer truthfully. 

“What?” Harry swallowed audibly. 

“Would you be willing to take my place? As his protector?” McGonagall asked.

“I- I don’t see why not,” Harry answered. 

“Harry, you need to be sure beyond a doubt,” she continued. “This won’t just be a promise.” 

Mcgonagall raised her eyebrows, her words heavy with their meaning. 

“Ah. You want me to take a Vow, then?” Harry asked, his throat tightening. 

“Clever boy.” 

“I will.”

“This means forever, Harry.” 

“I know.”

“You’re sure?” 

Harry wished he could run it by Hermione and Ron, but he knew the shock of Draco being alive and having to explain his seemingly sudden change of heart towards his old rival would prevent them from being any kind of help. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut.  _ Ron and Hermione.  _ He couldn’t keep this from him. Well, obviously, he could but it would be incredibly difficult, because even if he kept to himself, Hermione had an incredible talent in snooping into situations that interest her, particularly when they pertain to Harry. 

“You’re hesitant,” McGonagall said, studying him. 

“Ron and Hermione-” 

“Will pose a problem, yes. I know you have been rather reclusive since the end of the war, but I don’t imagine they will let you keep them away for much longer. Especially when they start having children. And I should think it would be harder for you to keep away once they start asking when “Uncle Harry” will come to visit and harder still when their children come to Hogwarts. Which is why I suggest we have them take a Vow, as well,” McGonagall interrupted. 

“Really?” Harry asked, flabbergasted. It seemed like too many people to be involved in such a big secret.

“You’ve always found strength in numbers, Harry. And you three have always been good at keeping secrets. And that way, if something should happen to you- unlikely, but it is possible there are still people who support Voldemort that would like to see you done in- Draco would still have a support system.” 

“Are  _ you  _ sure, Professor?” 

“I have to be, don’t I? You’re the least likely person in the world to be hiding Draco Malfoy and you’re one of the most trusted figures in the wizarding community. You’re the best and only choice I have, Harry.”  

“Then I guess I have to be sure, too,” Harry said. 


	8. Chapter 8

Draco never saw himself ending up here. Not even before he had taken the Mark and there was still a chance for him to lead a semi-normal life. He never saw himself on his knees, joining hands with Harry Potter, preparing to take a Vow. But here he was. He used his free hand to push his hair back from his face, more of a nervous tick than a necessity. Harry’s hand was smaller than his, but broader. Draco realized he hadn’t ever touched the other boy- man, now- for this long, unless you counted the incident with the fiendfyre, which he didn’t. 

“You’ll have to look at each other, if you can manage it,” McGonagall’s stern voice interrupted Draco’s musings. Draco then realized that the both of them had been avoiding the other’s gaze. 

“Draco, do you remember the conditions you are to ask Harry?” 

“Yes,” Draco said, studying Harry’s face as the green light that filtered through the dungeon window’s made shapes appear across it. 

“And Harry, you are ready to accept them?” 

Harry’s eyes darted from Draco to the dungeon floor, before finally answering, “Yes” 

“Then we shall begin,” McGonagall said. She placed the tip of her wand to their joined hands. 

Draco cleared his throat. 

“Will you, Harry Potter, protect me from any and all harm?” Draco asked. 

“I will,” Harry whispered. 

They both watched in wonder as the first ring of the Vow wove its away around their hands, glowing and permanent. 

“And will you ensure my basic needs are fulfilled, that being food, clothes, shelter, once Minerva McGonagall has resigned from her current position?”

“I will.” 

“And will you do everything in your power to ensure my continued existence remain a secret, discussing it only with the predesignated parties we have deemed acceptable?” 

“I will,” Harry confirmed, again, prompting a third ring formation. 

“And will you do these things for as long as we both shall live?” 

Harry’s eyes darkened as they locked with Draco’s. 

“I will,” Harry said, the finality in his voice hitting Draco in the stomach like a well-landed punch. 

The final ring wove around their hands. 

 

McGonagall drew her wand away, the rings of magic fading as the moments dragged forward. Both men seemed hesitant to let the other’s hand drop, only doing so upon the headmaster’s prompting of “You can let go now, you know, you aren’t literally tied together.” 

 

“Professor,” Harry said suddenly as he stood up. “It wouldn’t be unheard of for a wizard to have a dog as a familiar, would it?” 

“Not extremely common, but not unprecedented. Why?” McGonagall asked, narrowing her eyes at Harry. 

“I was just thinking, it would give D-um, Malfoy a lot more freedom around the castle, and ease Hagrid’s mind if we pretended that I had tamed the wolf on the grounds and kept him as a familiar of sorts, wouldn’t you think?” Harry said, looking at Draco with an apologetic smile. 

Draco looked at him, baffled. He could have run the idea by him first, but he supposed Harry was one to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. 

“I suppose it would not appear too strange, but I don’t think it would be wise to allow him free range of the castle just because he belonged to someone. Too dangerous. I think… it would be fine for him to accompany you around the castle in his animal form. Should he want to. Never alone, though, Mr. Malfoy. Never alone. I will leave you two to catch up, then. Not that you don’t have all the time in the world. And don’t neglect your studies, Mr. Potter. Maybe Mr. Malfoy will be so kind as to help you. He was a better student...” Professor McGonagall said, turning on her heel and heading out the door. 

The boys smiled politely at her as she exited. 

Draco turned to Harry the moment the entrance had closed behind her. 

“I may be in a cage, Potter, but that doesn’t mean I am your  _ pet.  _ Your  _ familiar,  _ how very cute,” Draco spat, regretting it as the other boy flinched at his words. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, Malfoy. I was only thinking that it the best place to hide is in plain sight. No one will snoop around after a dog they see all the time. Think about it. Hagrid has Fang all the time, and no one is curious as to know whether or not Fang is  _ really  _ a dog,” Harry sputtered nervously. 

“Because Fang is so clearly a dog, Potter. Anyway, you’re you. Everyone thinks everything you do is interesting. You’re sudden acquisition of a white wolf won’t go unscrutinized.” 

“Well, I mean, sure people will notice, but a certain allowance for eccentricity comes with being the Boy Who Lived, especially now after all is said and done. I think you would be quite safe. Anyway, accompanying me to class would be loads more interesting than just sitting around here all day for the rest of your life,” Harry said, motioning at the room around him as he fell unceremoniously into one of Draco’s armchairs. He propped his feet up on one armrest, leaning back against the other. 

“Shoes,” Draco chastised, tapping Harry’s toe as he walked passed to him settle in the opposite chair, sitting upright like a civilized human being. 

Harry rolled his eyes and kicked off his shoes, which bouncing haphazardly across the floor. 

“Who says that would be more interesting? Who says I don’t have plenty to do here?” Draco asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. 

“For one, I’d be there,” Harry said. 

“And you’re interesting?” 

“You seem to think so, based on those albums you’ve-” 

“Don’t start with the album. Forget the album. I should  _ burn  _ the album,” Draco huffed. “It’s the reason I’m here in the first place, playing some twisted game of house where I’m the pet dog.” 

Harry smiled at him, though it appeared forced. 

“Unfortunately for you, I won’t be forgetting the scrapbook. Didn’t get obliviated, you see. Tell me, what do you have to do here that is more interesting?” 

“Reading,” Draco replied shortly. 

“Reading would be more fun than going to class with me? Think about it. You come with me to the Defense class room. We’ll keep something for you to lie on up by my desk. You keep an eye on the students, and when they do something stupid, we can talk about it together instead of me having to do the funny things justice when I tell you about my day,” Harry answered. 

“So I’ll be some glorified version of Mrs. Norris. Who says I want to hear about your day, Potter?” Draco sneered, trying to hide the fact that that did, in fact, sound pleasant. Nothing bred community quite like gossip, and Draco had always loved a good bit of gossip himself. 

“The albu-” 

“What do I have to do to get you to drop the album?” Draco asked, snapped out of the pleasant musings brought on by the thought of spending time around people and back into reality. 

“Acknowledge the elephant in the room,” Harry said. 

“Which is?” Draco tensed. 

“I just vowed to protect you with my life for the rest of my existence, Malfoy.” 

“I know, I was there,” Draco replied, the words  _ as long as we both shall live _ echoing through his mind, his heart beat picking up again as he replayed Harry’s answer, a slow, deliberate, and above all else, incredibly confident  _ I will.  _

“So. That means I-” 

“Don’t hate me. I know. You’ve mentioned.” 

“I was going to say don’t mind being around you. Might even go so far as to say I would like to be around you,” Harry continued. 

“Thanks very much, kind of you to say,” Draco said. He didn’t want to say it. Not so plainly. Not yet. 

“So I guess what I am saying, Draco, is is that album what I think it is?” 

Draco suppressed the leap his heart made at Harry’s use of his given name. It wasn’t the first time he had said it, but he seemed to only reserve it for moments like this, moments that tug at Draco’s chest, threatening to make him spill every secret he’d held close for the last decade. 

“What do you think it is?” 

“Evidence that maybe you’d like to be around me, too.” 

“Maybe I would. Seeing as we’re as good as handcuffed together forever, it seems like it would be in my best interest to like to be around you.” 

“You just can’t stoop so low as to admit you don’t hate me so much, either, can you?” Harry laughed. 

“To your face? Never,” Draco said, a pleasant warm feeling spreading through his stomach as he returned Harry’s smile. 

 

So maybe the familiar idea wasn’t the best one he had ever had, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. After all, he was only trying to make sure Draco didn’t feel like a prisoner for the rest of his life. It was ironic really, that this was the life he chose when it was highly unlikely he would have ended up in Azkaban after the trials, especially when Harry would have vouched for him. Harry hated to say it, because it made him sound so self-important, but his word did go a long way in the months just after the war. They still would, if he felt the need to use them. 

But he had been looked at his entire life, and he knew how difficult it was to be the center of attention, especially when it was negative. And Draco had been fragile just after the war. Hell, they all had been, but Draco had a certain amount of guilt that he was sure made the fragility all the worse. But things would have worked out. 

In a way, they had worked out, because now here he was, still buzzing with the magic of the Vow, sitting across from Draco Malfoy like they were friends. They almost were, and he knew, in time, they would be. They had their whole lives to work that situation out. But part of him wondered why he had done it. Of course, there was the confession that he had made to McGonagall, the one he knew beyond a doubt was true; he was in love with Draco Malfoy. But it was hardly common for you to go from confessing one’s love for the first time outloud to Vowing to protect them, now and forever more, in the same day. It was a bit Romeo and Juliet of him, he had to admit. And even if he knew that his feelings were not entirely unrequited, he couldn’t help but feel he had rushed. 

Then again, what else was to be expected of him? His whole life had been rushed. He went from being a normal muggle kid to being the most famous wizard in the United Kingdom, and possibly the world, in less than a day. He became the youngest seeker in ages in a similar way. He went from an orphan to having Sirius to being an orphan again in what felt like the shortest time period imaginable. His whole life happened too fast, and he hadn’t learned how to make decisions in a timely, well thought out manner. He had never had to develop the skill of thinking things out well. That had always been Hermione’s job. 

There was a lot on his mind, to be sure, but the thought that most occupied him was how difficult he was finding it not to stare at Draco’s face. He knew he had forever and then some to memorize it all, but what he wanted right now, more than anything was to walk across to where Draco sat and hold his face between his hands and just look at him. Look at him and run his fingers over the lines of his cheekbones, his nose, his lips. Of course, he knew all too well what Draco looked like, but he never been allowed to just look like he wanted to. Like he knew now that he was being honest to himself, that he always wanted to. 

“Potter,” Draco said suddenly from where he sat in his armchair, eyes closed as he rest his head on his hand. 

“Hmm?” 

“Stop watching me.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You are so,” Draco replied, opening his eyes to look at the other man. “You have guilt written all over your face. And don’t act like I don’t know what that looks like, I practically have a doctorate in interpreting your facial expressions. Why are you staring, Potter?” 

“I never thought I’d see your face again,” Harry said, finally, ignoring the flutter in his stomach as he admitted it. 

“There were photos,” Draco said, though Harry couldn’t help but notice the color that came to his cheeks as he spoke. 

“Not as good,” Harry replied. “Besides, they don’t look like you do now.” 

“Yeah? Is how I look now better or worse?” Draco sneered, although Harry could tell his heart wasn’t in it. 

“Is that even a question? Have you seen you?” 

“I don’t think I look all that different,” Draco shrugged. 

Harry knew he had brought this conversation upon himself, but he felt he was getting too close to saying too much. He stood up, pacing between their two armchairs. When his back was to Draco he spoke. 

“You look- I keep telling myself you must be a ghost. Or some extremely interactive Mirror of Erised-esque vision. I keep telling myself the next time I turn around, you’ll be gone. Or I’ll be having a moment of lucidity in whatever St. Mungo’s bed I’m currently strapped into,” Harry rambled, turning to find Draco had also stood from his seat. 

“So I look like a ghost?” Draco said, approaching Harry slowly.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, you’re pale, but-” Harry trailed off again as Draco took his arm by the wrist. 

Draco took Harry’s hand and placed it on his chest. 

“You’re hand doesn’t go through, does it?” Draco asked, his voice impossibly soft. 

“No,” Harry whispered. Draco’s sweater was thinner than he expected, and he could feel the heat from his body bleeding through against his hand. 

Draco placed his other hand over Harry’s, pressing it against his chest harder. 

“And I’ve a heartbeat, don’t I?” Draco asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Do I feel like a ghost, Potter?” 

Harry shook his head in the negative. 

“And what about a vision?” Draco asked, studying Harry carefully. “Is this that you’d see in the Mirror?” 

Draco’s tone was flippant, but Harry could see in his eyes that he wanted. He wanted the answer to be yes, he wanted to be the thing Harry longed for most in the world. And of course the answer  _ was  _ yes, but old habits die hard and he wasn’t giving Draco any easy victories, no matter how small. 

“No,” he said, pausing, and Draco’s shoulders fell, only slightly, before he composed himself, a bit more guarded than before. 

“Then I’m not a vision, obviously,” he said, his voice tight around his nonchalance.

“If this  _ were  _ the Mirror, you’d be shorter,” Harry said.

Draco snorted, the tension falling from him. 

“What? If I were having to conjure you up from memory, do you really think I’d give you this many advantages? The height, the hair, the-“ Harry trailed off, and in a mad moment of bravery, ran a finger along Draco’s cheekbone. Those hadn’t changed much in the time since he’d last seen him, but they were still beautiful, and unfairly so. “I think I’d imagine you more in my league.” 

“As if I ever was,” Draco smiled, pressing his cheek into Harry’s hand.

 

Harry paused, seeing himself as if from the outside, one hand on Draco’s chest, the other on his cheek, and he was struck with the improbability of this very moment ever being real. And yet it was. 

“What are we doing?” Harry whispered, his eyes darting from Draco’s eyes down to his lips. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t know exactly where this was going the moment you brought up the bloody album.” 

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted it to go there, still,” Harry replied.

“Harry, it’s all I’ve wanted since I was eleven years old,” Draco said, ducking his head and bringing his lips to meet Harry’s in one swift movement. 

Harry’s breath caught as they kissed, relishing the moment that seemed to last forever and not long enough all at once. 

“Eleven?” Harry asked when Draco pulled away. “You sure had a funny way of showing it.” 

“You’re all I ever wanted, Harry. I was terrified of that want, I was terrified of  _ you.”  _

“You were much scarier than I ever was,” Harry breathed. 

“You were almost like… an entity. An idol. You were bigger than all of us. And somehow, I was the unlucky dunce that went and fell in love with you,” Draco replied. 

“Unlucky?” Harry asked raising an eyebrow. 

“Unlucky that it was you that I feel for when I am who I am. Who I was. Lucius Malfoy’s son in love with the Boy Who Lived? He would have torn me apart. More than he already did,” Draco explained. 

“I guess that is pretty unlucky,” Harry agreed. He could feel his whole body tense at the mention of Draco’s father, but decided not to comment any further. Draco knew how he felt about his father. His own sentiments probably weren’t too far off from Harry’s. 

“It had a way of working itself out, apparently,” Draco smiled at him, touching Harry’s hand that still rest on upon his cheek. 

“Don’t get all mushy and start talking about fate and all that kind of stuff,” Harry laughed. 

“Don’t tell me you, of all people, don’t believe in fate. You’re a living prophecy.” 

“It could have been anyone. Voldemort decided it was me. Not fate,” Harry said. 

Draco shook his head. 

“Whatever, Potter. You’re the one that brought fate up. But maybe now I’ll say it was fate that brought us here, just to annoy you.” 

“Wouldn’t that be just like you,” Harry answered. 

“Wouldn’t it be?”


	9. Epilogue

“Uncle Harry!” 

 

Rose ran up the walk of Grimmauld Place, tripping over her toes when she got to the steps. Harry smiled as the toddler clambered up the stairs, picking her up and hugging her when she reached the door. 

“How are you, Rosie?” he asked. 

“Uncle Harry, where is Phantom?” Rose asked, peering over his shoulder down the hall. 

Harry laughed. 

“He’s around here somewhere, I’m sure. Why don’t you go look for him?” he asked, setting the little girl down and sending her into the house. 

Hermione was following close behind her daughter, shaking her head. 

“I still can’t get over that name. A little on the nose, isn’t it?” 

“He said he wouldn’t abide a name like Snuffles. You know he can be rather… opinionated,” he said, shooting a look over his shoulder as he heard Rose shriek with laughter in the sitting room. 

“Well, he can call himself whatever he wants as long as he keeps making Rosie laugh like that,” Ron said, appearing at Hermione’s shoulder. 

“And makes Harry happy,” Hermione added, giving her husband a look. 

“Well, of course that, too,” Ron said, slapping Harry on the shoulder as he passed. 

“Remind me, I have a new muggle book I think Dra- Phantom will like. I’ll give it to him when Rosie goes down for a nap,” Hermione said, following Harry into his home. 

 

**** 

Draco lay on the loveseat in the sitting room, smiling to himself as he listened Harry and the Granger-Weasleys talk. He had worn Rosie out playing tug of war, something he had thought was below him until Harry’s niece was born (Hermione insisted on referring to Rose as Draco’s niece as well, but he felt odd accepting the honor of being an uncle if his niece thought he was a dog. Nevertheless, he adored her). 

“I take it Phantom is a big hit with the students, then?” Ron said, steering the conversation away from what Harry was planning for the fall term’s lessons. That was always Hermione’s favorite topic of conversation, still unable to get enough of school, but Ron always liked hearing about what the students got into outside of class. 

“He’s the favorite part of the course. They like him more than me, which is a first,” Harry said, glancing at Draco with a snarky smile. Draco huffed out a breath of annoyance. He was better about reacting to Harry like he understood him in mixed company, but they had all decided when Hermione was pregnant that while the baby may not know Draco was a person, that didn’t mean they couldn’t know he was a very… special kind of very smart dog. 

“He seems to be a big hit with little ones, too,” he said, readjusting Rose, who was sat on his lap, resting her head on his shoulder. She was struggling to keep her eyes open. “Speaking of, I am going to go put her down upstairs, or else we will have a very unpleasant trip home.” 

 

Hermione and Harry watched as Ron left the room, both of their gazes turning to Draco when he had disappeared from their sight. 

“That’s your cue,  _ Phantom,”  _ Hermione teased. 

Draco changed his form almost immediately, straightening out his shirt as he stood up. 

“Hi, ‘Mione,” he smiled at her as she crossed the room to hug him. 

She immediately went into a tangent about a new book she had brought him, explaining all the reasons why she thought it was just his sort of thing, and he listened attentively, nodding as she spoke a mile a minute. His gaze came to rest on Harry for just a moment, the smile on his partner’s face melting his heart in an instant. He was clearly so happy that they all got along, that he had this little family, strange though it was.    
Draco was happy, too. So what if he had “died.”  He had gone to heaven, after all. 

 


End file.
